I'm No Angel (25 page)

“And your late wife's jewelry?” she asked calmly.

“All of the pieces were recovered last night and”—he sighed heavily—“the security here will be upgraded. I don't want a repeat of what happened tonight.”

“Did you upgrade the security twenty-six years ago?” Angel asked. She put her coffee cup on the table and stood. “Or did you decide it was easier to hide?”

“We were talking about what happened last night, Miss Devlin. I don't want to discuss the other incident with you.”

“Or with your godson.” Angel walked to the window and stood silhouetted in the just-rising sunlight. “Have you ever wondered what Chase would say about the way you've treated his son? Or”—she shrugged—“maybe you and Chase weren't as close as you've tried to convince me you were. Maybe the people in town who've related stories to Tom and I about your friendship with Chase were misled all those years ago. Maybe you weren't best friends. Maybe you didn't care about Chase at all.”

“That's enough, Miss Devlin.”

“Have I hit a sore spot?” Angel said. “If not, I'd like to. God knows, if Chase were here now—
if,
of
course, you hadn't shot and killed him—I imagine he'd be pretty damn angry to learn that you'd abandoned his little boy, the little boy you promised to take care of if anything happened to his dad.”

Holt turned away from Angel and stared out the window. He didn't want to hear any more and she knew it. But she was going to keep right on hitting him with truths he didn't want to hear.

“Tell me, Mr. Hudson, do you think Chase would have abandoned your child if you'd had one? Do you think he would have refused to talk to your child, to answer that child's questions, to help that child learn something about his past? Or do you think he would have thought about himself first? Wallowed in self-pity and guilt, and not once given any thought to a four-year-old boy who wasn't guilty of a thing, but ended up having to watch his father die, and had to face a grief far greater than any of us could ever imagine?”

“Tom's not a child any longer. And he's had a good life.”

“How do you know anything about his life?”

“I've kept tabs.”

“Then you do have something resembling a heart beneath the expensive suits you wear?”

Holt spun around, anger in his eyes. “What is it you want from me? I've told you that you can have your gala. I'm giving you the jewelry—”

“That means a lot to me, Mr. Hudson, and I appreciate it more than you'll ever know. A year ago it seemed like a miracle to me that you were going to come out of hiding after more than two decades. People in this town are so damn excited
about seeing you again, which tells me that at some point in time you must have been a man with a generous heart.”

“I don't need to be sweet-talked, Miss Devlin.”

“All right, no sugar coating. You may have come out of seclusion, but my gut instinct tells me you're still hiding from something. Something that's haunted you for twenty-six years. And my gut instinct also tells me that you're going to be haunted by it until the day you die, unless you tell the truth to your godson.”

“Are you quite finished?”

“No.”

“Well, Miss Devlin, I am.” Holt stalked across the room but Angel caught up with him. She blocked his exit through the door.

She moved in close. Stood eye to eye, not about to back down. “I'll be inviting Tom to the gala.”

Holt's eyes narrowed. Burned. “Do whatever you have to do.”

That answer came as a shock.

“Just one more thing,” Angel said. “Why don't we check your calendar right now and find a time when you and Tom can meet…and talk?”

Holt shook his head and laughed. “I can only be pushed so far, Miss Devlin. And I feel I've been poked and prodded enough for one night.”

 

Angel zipped up South Ocean Drive, exhausted from her meeting with Holt, but anxious to see Tom, to invite him to the gala, to tell him he might, just might, get a chance to talk with Holt.

And more than anything, she wanted to fall into his arms and beg his forgiveness. For being
afraid that he could be even a little bit like Dagger. For being afraid that he'd try to control her when, in truth, he'd shown her how much power she really had.

She wanted to kiss him, to feel the warmth of his breath against her lips, the beat of his heart against hers, and the power of his arms as she gave herself up to his embrace.

And then she'd tell him she loved him.

She had no doubts at all about that any longer.

She'd never doubt it ever again.

Not more than five minutes later Angel stopped in front of Mere Belle. Her heart beat rapidly, full of excitement, anxiety, and anticipation. Stepping out of the car, she raced up the steps and knocked on the door.

And waited.

Anxiety peaked. A lump formed in her throat when no one answered the door. After knocking again and waiting even longer, she wove her way through the wild overgrowth of the estate to a winding path that led to the courtyard, hoping that Tom was working out back as he did so often.

The courtyard was empty. There wasn't a shovel, a pair of clippers, or even a wheelbarrow in sight, as there'd always been before.

She ran to the pool.

Nothing.

Walking to the French doors, she shaded her eyes and peeked through the glass. She saw Tom's piano with the lid closed—even though he always kept it open.

She dragged in a long, deep breath of cool morning air, then walked to the edge of the patio,
past the shrubs and the statuary, to the long expanse of grass. If Tom wasn't inside, she'd go see Pop. Tell him that she needed to talk to Tom, or hopefully find Tom on the fishing boat sharing coffee or breakfast with his grandfather.

But when she reached the lawn and looked out to Tom's private dock, the
Adagio
was gone. And even though she didn't want to believe it, she knew the yacht, Pop, and Tom wouldn't be returning anytime soon.

N
ot one cloud marred the sky the night of the gala. Lights twinkled in nearly every tree, nearly every shrub. Bentleys, Rolls-Royces, a handful of Maseratis and Ferraris, and a yellow and green Deusenberg rounded the circular drive at Palazzo Paradiso, while young men in white dinner jackets graciously opened doors for the ladies and gentlemen, and, for those without chauffeurs, parked their cars.

The inside reeked of the tropics, with magnificent arrangements of white and lavender orchids, hibiscus, ginger, and bird of paradise placed on nearly every tabletop in Holt's fabulous ballroom.

Angel couldn't have asked for a more perfect night. Well, that wasn't true. It would have been absolutely perfect if Tom had been present, but the
Adagio
hadn't returned to Mere Belle, she hadn't heard from Tom, and all of the messages she left on his recorder in the past two weeks went unanswered.

She refused to be sad. Disappointed—definitely.
But she wasn't about to let anything spoil this evening. It was far too special, her mother looked fabulous and seemed to be comfortable in spite of all the people, and she knew without a doubt—well, maybe one or two—that she'd see Tom again.

If she had to go to the Everglades and search him out, fighting off alligators and mosquitoes and water moccasins along the way, she would.

Tom Donovan had not seen the last of Angel Devlin.

“You look marvelous tonight,” Emma said, gliding toward Angel, wearing a simple white gown and the fabulous diamonds Cartier had donated to the auction.

Angel touched the glittering rubies and diamonds dripping down her own neck, a fabulous piece of jewelry Holt had asked her to wear with her feathery crimson gown. “What do you think of this?”

“Well…” Emma frowned. “They're not me, so I won't be bidding on them. But they're definitely you, Angel.”

“I was thinking the same thing myself. Of course, there's no way in hell I can afford them.”

“Maybe some sugar daddy will come along and buy them for you.”

“In my dreams.”

Emma smiled warmly. “Come on, Angel, we both know it's not a sugar daddy you want. It's Tom Donovan, and you'd take him even if you had to spend the rest of your life living with him in a mosquito-infested swamp.”

“Unfortunately Mr. Donovan isn't around. Un
fortunately Mr. Donovan hasn't been invited to this gala. So—”

“Oh, my God!”

“What?” Angel frowned as Emma's eyes opened wide.

“You should see the hunk who just walked in.” Emma patted her chest. “He's gorgeous, Angel. Absolutely gorgeous.”

Angel spun around and her heart leapt into her throat.

Tom strolled through the crowd. Tall. Broad-shouldered. He wore the finest tux she'd ever seen on a man and it fit as if it had been tailored just for him. And, to echo Emma, he
was
absolutely gorgeous.

A Straus waltz was playing, something rousing and wonderful. Angel hoped Tom would look around the room and find her. Instead, his eyes never veered from the beautiful woman holding on to another man's arm.

A tear slid down Angel's cheek as Tom walked up to her mother, took her hand, and led her out to the dance floor—just as he'd promised. Not once did he stop smiling that warm, generous, and wonderful smile that Angel remembered and loved.

Sarah's steps were halting, uncertain, but Tom held her against him, guiding her, talking to her—mesmerizing her as only Tom could do.

“May I have this dance?”

Angel turned to the voice at her side. A much older version of Tom stood there, cane in hand, bent and a bit fragile, but looking incredibly handsome in his tux.

“Hi, Pop,” she said, fighting the lump of happiness lodged in her throat.

“Bet you didn't expect to see me tonight.”

“I hoped I'd see you days ago. But I'm glad you're here now. Angel slid a hand around Pop's neck, taking his free hand in hers.

“I'm not as steady on my feet as I used to be and I'm sure as hell not as tall as I was when I was forty—hell, even when I was sixty—but it's been a long time since I danced with a pretty woman and I want to make the best of this.”

“We'll go as slow or as fast as you want,” Angel said, as they took a couple of halting steps, then pretty much stood together on the edge of the dance floor.

“I've missed you…and Tom,” she said, as they barely moved from the place where they'd begun their dance.

“We went to the Glades. Ate a lot of gator tail. Drank a lot of beer. Got drunk a few times and went fishing every day.”

“I'm surprised you came back.”

“I got to missing the ocean view. Amazing how pretty the morning is with the sun rising over the Atlantic.”

“You were homesick, huh?”

“I suppose. Sure as hell didn't think I'd get to feeling that way when I made Tom take me back to Everglade City. Thought that would be the best place for both of us after that night.”

“It was your idea?”

“Sure as hell was. After spending a couple of hours listening to Tom pound on the piano keys, making all sorts of god-awful racket, I figured it
was best if we got the hell away from Palm Beach.”

“So why'd you come back?”

“Like I said, I got homesick.”

“And Tom?”

Warm fingers wrapped around her arm. Callused fingers. Familiar fingers. “Because just like Pop,” Tom said, “I received an invitation to your gala from Holt, of all people. And because I got homesick, too.”

Tom stood at her side, touching her gently not just with his hands but with his eyes, his smile, making her heart swell.

“Mind if I cut in, Pop?” Tom said.

“Nope. My body was about to give out anyway.”

Tom spun Angel into his arms and heat radiated through her veins. Her heart beat wonderfully fast, as his smooth, heavenly-smelling cheek pressed against hers. “I've missed you,” Tom whispered.

“Me, too.”

He swayed with her in his arms, circled around and around, even did a little dip for everyone in the room to see, then nearly swept her off her feet as he danced her out onto the balcony in the cool night air.

“I shouldn't have left you. Shouldn't have gotten angry.”

Angel put a finger to his luscious lips to stop his apologies. “I was afraid of losing control. Of doing something for others simply because they wanted it, not because I wanted it. I was scared of falling for someone and letting him take control of me. But you'd never do that, Tom. It just took
me a while to realize it.” She drew a deep breath. “I love you, Tom. I could never stop loving you, no matter what.”

Tom kissed her. Soft. Gentle. Keeping her in his embrace. Keeping her warm and loved, and then he began to dance again, circling the terrace until they were hidden behind a cluster of palms.

His fingers swept down her sides, over her hips. “I've missed making love to you.”

“We could easily make up for lost time.”

“Now?” Tom asked, a gleam in his eye.

“I think we need to wait until the gala is over.”

“What if I try something funny before then? Will you threaten to cut off my balls?”

Angel grinned. She placed her hand on top of his and slid it down her thigh.

Tom frowned. “Are you missing something?”

“No. I gave something up.”

“You're no longer wearing the stiletto?”

Angel shook her head and wove her hands into his hair and pulled his mouth close to hers. “I don't need it any longer, Tom. I don't need to build any more of those walls you told me I was throwing up—unless I built one around the two of us to keep us together.”

“Excuse me.”

Tom jerked back, their long-awaited and much missed kiss interrupted before their lips had even touched.

“Pardon my interruption,” Holt's butler said, “but Mr. Hudson would like to see you in his library.”

Tom and Angel reluctantly followed the butler through the crowd. Everyone was having a won
derful time, drinking, eating hors d'oeuvres, and talking about the extraordinary jewels, the divine Emma Claire original purse, and all of the other items that would soon be up for auction.

Of course, that auction couldn't begin until Angel returned to offer her thanks to everyone for making the evening so special, and to encourage them to contribute with open hearts and very big checks.

They entered the mahogany library. Pop was there, leaning on his cane and the back of a chair, glaring at Holt, who stood on the far side of the room, his hands clasped behind his back.

“I apologize for dragging you away from the party,” Holt said. “It appears to be going quite well.”

“It is,” Angel said. “Thank you.”

Holt's gaze turned to Tom. “It's been a long time since you were in this house—because you'd been invited here.”

“I don't remember ever being here with an invitation.”

“You came here quite often with your father. I even had a swing set installed outside—just for you.”

Suddenly Tom remembered feeling the weight of a man's hand pressed against his back as he was pushed in a swing, and he wondered if it had been Holt's hands he'd felt, his dad's, or both.

But why had Holt picked tonight to talk of old times?

“Have you called us here to unburden your soul?” Tom asked.

“There is a lot I want to share with you,” Holt said.

“You could have picked a hell of a better time,” Tom said. “This is Angel's night. She's worked hard to put this gala together and she should be in the ballroom celebrating with everyone.”

Angel clutched Tom's arm. “It's all right, Tom. You've waited a long time for this. It's more important than anything going on outside. Besides, Emma is in her element. She'll make sure everything goes smoothly.”

“So what do you plan to tell us?” Tom asked.

“You aren't the only three who will know the truth when tonight is over.” Holt lifted a few sheets of paper from his desk. “I have a press release to fax to the newspaper. And after tonight's auction, I have a speech to give, so everyone will know what happened the night your father was shot.”

“You plan to tell my grandson the truth with everyone else looking on?” Pop moved toward Holt, his cane thumping on the floor. “That's the most despicable thing I've ever heard.”

“No,” Holt said. “You three will see the truth first.”

Tom's eyes narrowed. “
See
the truth.”

Holt opened one of his desk drawers and pulled out a videotape. “Twenty-six years ago I had video monitors installed in the house. Not for security purposes, not to monitor anyone's actions as they happened, but to look at should someone break in.”

“The same type of system they use in convenience stores?” Angel said.

“Pretty much,” Holt said.

“So let me get this straight.” Tom swept his fingers through his hair. “You expect me to sit here tonight and watch a videotape of you shooting my dad?”

“I want you to watch a videotape to see what happened that night. Please sit down, Tom,” Holt said in his imperialistic way. “You, too, Miss Devlin. Mr. Donovan.”

While Holt walked to the TV on the far wall and put the tape in the VCR, Tom helped his grandfather sit in one of the easy chairs, then sat beside Angel. She clutched his hand tightly, knowing this was undoubtedly going to cause him pain.

Holt dimmed the lights. Static and snow filled the screen, and then Chase stepped into the picture.

“My God,” Pop said. “That's your father.”

Tom stared at the screen, seeing the young and handsome man that he remembered. He was thirty then. He'd always be thirty—the same age Tom was now.

“The audio is filled with quite a lot of static,” Holt said, as the film flickered on the TV screen. “But watch closely. The room you're seeing is my master suite. There's a walk-in safe in the wall. You've been in there, Tom,” Holt said. “It's quite large and hidden, but any good thief would be able to find it.”

“Your father had been a cat burglar,” Holt went on. “He'd stopped stealing right about the time we met, and when I wanted a safe built into my
home, I asked him to design it and oversee construction.”

“Why would you do that?” Pop asked. “You were opening yourself up to being robbed.”

“Because I trusted Chase. Amélie trusted Chase.” A faraway smile touched Holt's face. “He'd worked quite hard to gain your trust, Mr. Donovan. Sadly, he died without getting it, but I hope before we leave this room that you will see what a good man Chase had become.”

Again Tom turned his full attention to the monitor, and watched Chase press a spot on the wall near the four-poster bed. A panel swung away from the wall, revealing a heavy steel door and a combination lock.

Everything Tom saw was exactly what he'd read in the police report.

Holt fast-forwarded as Chase twisted and turned the lock, finally opening the safe to reveal a tall bronze statue of two lovers.

“That's the infamous statue,
The Embrace
,” Holt said, as Tom watched Chase grasp it in his hand.

“He's shaking,” Pop said. “Chase never shook. He was damn good at cracking safes. Knew exactly what he was doing. He shouldn't have been shaking.”

“Keep watching,” Holt said. “You'll soon know the reason.”

Chase turned, statue in his hand, and walked out of the safe room. He didn't bother closing the door behind him, he just stared, as if someone were standing in front of him.

“I can't do this,” Chase said, his voice full of anguish. “Not to Holt.”

Tom frowned at his dad's words. Who the hell was he talking to?

“Do you think I care if Holt is hurt by this?”

It was a woman's voice Tom heard. Frantic. Loud.

“He loves that damned statue more than me,” she said, but she never came into view. “He loves you more than me and, God forbid, he loved your wife more than me, too.”